


Reunion

by tatooinesun



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-09 04:59:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6891175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatooinesun/pseuds/tatooinesun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soul invited Wes for a visit not a roast session with his meister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

He picks his brother up at the airport a little before noon and is assaulted with a barrage of wet cheek kisses and ruffles to his already messy hair. He’d expected tension, an awkward hesitation or a nod by way of greeting. Instead, Wes forgoes his luggage and nearly tackles him to the ground, as if they haven't not seen each other since he left for Shibusen. It makes things hurt just a little bit less and he tolerates the mushy show of affection for longer than he normally would.

"Gah fuck. I'm not five,” he scoffs against Wes’s detergent scented collar, but it lacks his usual bite and he nuzzles his nose further into the crook of his brother’s shoulder. He still smells like home and it’s both a painful reminder and relieving consolation. Wes hasn’t changed. It’s what he had been dreading, that he wouldn’t recognize the brother he left behind, that he somehow resented him for keeping his distance. They'd exchanged calls regularly over the years but Wes’s arms around him convey something the timbre of his voice can’t. They’re okay.

His brother pulls away but still holds him by the shoulders at arm’s length, fingers tight and taking Soul in as if he can hardly believe he’s tangible, that he might disappear at any moment. Wes still looks the same, with his tamed ashy blonde hair and immaculately pressed button down, the sleeves rolled carefully to his elbows. Even after five hours on a cramped plane, he’s completely put together, not a wrinkle or hair out of place and Soul snorts out loud because it’s so infuriatingly him.

"That’s barely younger than the last time I saw you. Look at you now, you might be as tall as me." It’s nice to hear the familiar cadence of his voice again, undistorted by telephone wires. The teasing tone doesn’t translate as well two thousand some odd miles away.

Soul stands a little straighter, sacrificing his perfected careless slouch on the altar of his pride. "Taller."

“Well your posture is still horrible.” His brother's smile is soft, despite the rebuke, and he leans forward to press another chaste kiss to Soul's cheek as if to soften the blow. Soul scowls passionately and wipes away at it with the back of his hand but it feels like old times and Wes's expression is contagious. “Don’t rub away my kisses." His mouth curves into a mocking pout with blinking blue eyes and that trembling lower lip that always used to buy him out of trouble when they were younger.

“I’m almost twenty," Soul deadpans.

“And you’ll always be my baby brother.”

“I cannot believe you’re a music executive.”

They’ve been through these motions a million times, it’s a script that Soul can recite in his sleep. He’s relieved they can fall back into playful banter and affectionate scathing remarks so easily, the nature of their relationship in its simplest form. His mouth betrays him and aches with the threat of a smile.

“Gran sends her love by the way,” Wes adds while they gather up his luggage and head away from the arrival terminal. Huh. They can match strides now. Soul used to have to quicken his speed to keep up with his brother’s lanky legs.

“Still kicking then?”

“Vigorously. She wanted me to make sure they were feeding you well at ‘that school of yours’. I told her I’d scope it out.”

They carefully avoid the topic of their parents and it’s probably for the best. Soul’s correspondence with them has been less regular, as in to say it’s almost nonexistent. He receives the occasional present on his birthday, and every now and then a letter will find it’s way into their mailbox full of the same old rhetoric, chastising him for giving up his music, asking him to come home. He stopped opening them a few years ago. It's not something he wants to dwell on now anyway.

“How’s your boyfriend?” Soul scratches his cheek absently and digs around in his head for the name Wes had told him over the phone. His manner bares the awkward sensitivity of reconciling with someone you haven’t seen in years and he’s fiddling with the zipper on his jacket. “Liam?”

Wes takes a pause and Soul glances up curiously when his question is met with unexpected hesitation. His brother looks almost uncharacteristically rueful and he rubs his neck before answering - a nervous habit they share. “Fiancé now.”

The suitcase Soul is tugging rolls to a stop and slams against his ankles painfully, but shock takes precedence and he opens his mouth, fumbling for words. “Shit Wes! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to say it in person,” he confesses, tension leaving his shoulders now that the initial reveal is out of they way. There’s a wistful smile on Wes's face that Soul thinks he is unaware of. “And ask you to be my best man, if you want to that is.”

Soul blinks and almost laughs when his fingers twitch for the back of his neck in mirror of his brother. It was only a matter of time really - in their recent calls Wes never shut up about the guy he’d been seeing for the better part of two years now. If anything, he’s surprised they hadn’t tied the knot sooner. 

“Yeah, of course. Absolutely. Wow,” he stammers, not quite capable of stringing together anything more congratulatory in wake of his surprise.

Wes seems genuinely relieved regardless and clasps a hand to Soul's shoulder. “Thanks. I’ve told him a lot about you. Only the good parts of course.”

The sneer he doesn't repress. “Sure.”

“Maybe I let a few things slip.” Wes easily dodges the lazy kick aimed in his direction with agile finesse. All those years of keep away in their driveway seem to have paid off.

“I can turn my hand into a blade. Just something to keep in mind.”

He expects a retort in response but Wes is just looking at him with a thick mawkish gleam in his eyes that makes Soul have to look away.

“I missed you too little bro.” Soul groans audibly in disgust at the old endearment but doesn’t shrug off the arm his brother curls around his shoulders.

\--

A scantily clad woman in a mini skirt and thigh highs looks up from her compact mirror when they get through the door. Dressed for a night at ChupaCabra’s, her bright pink smile widens at their entry, and she’s looking Wes up and down with her lower lip between her teeth. 

Wes extends the hand not toting his duffel in greeting. “Maka?” 

"What? No! No.” Soul snorts at the implication, but then his brain offers up an image of his meister in that skirt and those heels and he nearly chokes on his tongue. He shakes his head to banish the thought from his mind as well as reiterate his point. “This is Blair. She's our --” What? Roommate? Surrogate mom? “Cat?" he supplies wryly. “Blair, this is Wes. My brother.”

There’s a two second gap before Blair is on Wes with an agility that would be surprising, had Soul not personally been toe to toe with her. Her long fishnet adorned legs constrict around his waist and she nuzzles her head against his chest in a way that can only be described as affectionate. "Another kitten to love! Though this one looks more like a tiger.” The soft purr she emits is enough to make even Wes’s ears flush red and Soul has to turn away to hide his rather poorly concealed snicker. 

It speaks to the nature of his charm that Wes clears his throat and manages to tilt his head considerately. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Blair’s laugh is breathy and high pitched, and she swats at Wes’s arm as if he’d just whispered lewd sweet nothings into her ear. “So polite! Where has Scythie Boy been hiding you?” 

She’s pouting at Soul over Wes’s shoulder as if he’s committed a deliberate act against her and he rolls his eyes in retaliation. “Doesn’t your shift start soon?” 

“Awww you’re right.” With a slightly self satisfied smile, she unfurls herself from around Wes and gives his cheek a pat before smoothing down what little fabric that qualifies as a skirt. “I hate to hit and quit kittens, but duty calls. You’ll be here when I get back won’t you?” She blinks petulantly, black voluminous eyelashes fluttering in Wes’s direction. 

His brother, completely undeterred, offers her a gracious nod in return and Blair giggles all the way down the hall. 

Wes quirks a brow at him. “Your cat huh?” 

“Shut up.” Soul dispenses of the luggage on his shoulder to the floor and turns to yell down the narrow hall of their apartment. “Maka! Wes is here.” 

There’s a sort of feeling akin to pride when the two most important people in his life meet for the first time and it sends a jolt of painful affection through him. It’s sappy and stupid, he knows, and he kind of wants to punch himself in the face at how sentimental it sounds because god, he’s turning into Wes. But watching them laugh together at some polite quip his brother has cracked makes everything feel full circle, and he almost doesn’t even get jealous when his meister blushes at Wes’s extended hand by way of greeting. Smooth bastard.

Like him, Wes towers a good few inches above Maka, and she has to crane her head to meet his eyes. It’s funny from an outside perspective, like watching her talk to a more polite sophisticated version of himself with better posture. He wonders absently if she smiles half as much when he speaks to her.

“So you’re the Maka I’ve heard so much about. It’s a pleasure.” Wes’s tone is sickeningly genteel and it makes Soul’s teeth ache. It’s his ‘kiss ass voice’ as Soul had dubbed it years ago, the one he reserves for their parents and fancy dinner parties. “You’ve been keeping my numbskull alive.” 

“You’ve heard about me?" Soul talks about me, he hears. Maka visibly brightens and pauses to blink in Soul’s direction for affirmation. His shrug is sheepish, and he buries his hands so deep in his pockets he can feel the seams rip as blood begins to rise beneath the skin of his cheekbones and spread across his face.

“You’re Soul’s favorite subject.” Wes’s expression is edging on malicious, and if his brother suddenly transformed into a bloodthirsty kishin and Maka had to use Soul to slay him on the spot, he would be perfectly okay with that.

“Hey, help me with your bags Wes,” he cuts across pointedly, grasping for a distraction. “You’re staying in my room.” 

“Are we having a sleepover little brother?” Wes probes, and at least Maka is laughing behind her hand and doesn’t seem to be paying any mind to his brother’s tactless revelation.

Soul grumbles as he tugs a suitcase down the hallway. “God you make everything weird.” 

\--

“So how long have you been in love with her?”

Soul bumps his head on the dresser he’s been stuffing clothes into, curses loudly, and spins on his brother with what he hopes is an incredulous glare and not something that gives him away completely. 

“Wes what the fuck?”

Wes is sitting on the bed folding a pair of slacks and he doesn’t look up, tone conversational in a way that suggests small talk, not an earth shattering query. There’s a tightness to the corners of his mouth however that hint at a repressed smile. “Oh come on. I’ve been here for all of ten minutes and it’s obvious.” 

Soul opens his mouth and waits for some sort of explanation to fill the gap, but the silence is heavy and telling, and Wes is making no effort to conceal the now triumphant gleam in his eyes. He whistles lowly and dodges the sock Soul pelts in his direction. 

“A while then.” 

Still rubbing the bruise that’s sure to form under his hair, Soul climbs to his feet and kicks the duffel in Wes’s direction. His toes impact with something hard and heavy and fuck karma is really out to get him today. “I’m leaving. You can unpack by yourself.” 

He limps into the hall and his brother’s laughter follows him out the door. 

\--

Wes breaks out the photo album a little after dinner with a mischievous smile Soul can trace back to all of their childhood adventures. The pages are creased and the photos are faded and it looks like it’s gotten a lot of use since the last time he saw it. He doesn’t know what to make of that. It’s his night for dishes and he’s watching from the doorway of the kitchen as his brother plops down beside Maka on the couch with the album spread across his lap. 

“Come on Soul,” Wes waves him over, scooting slightly to make room between him and Maka. There’s something deliberate in that, he knows. “We’re gonna coo over how cute you used to be.” 

Soul groans and wipes at the glass in his hands on his apron with a little more force than necessary. Hasn’t he suffered enough? “Christ, what did you bring that for?” 

“I thought Maka might be curious,” Wes replies, and the meister nods beside him cheekily. 

“Traitor,” he mouths at her. She sticks her tongue out in response and his swelling aggravation softens.

“You’ve seen pictures of me as a baby Soul. It’s only fair.”

Wes hums his concurrence. “See Soul? It’s only fair.” 

It’s Maka’s sparkling smile that eventually wins him over and not Wes’s insistence. He grudgingly perches himself on the back of the couch and scowls as Wes flips through the pages, skimming past memories of his own youth to find the span in which Soul comes into the picture. At last he props the album open, smoothing the rippled plastic sheet with his fingers and Soul cranes his neck letting curiosity get the better of him. 

Of course he’s in the bathtub. He has to be no more than a year old and he’s all baby fat and white curls and completely naked. Wes is beside him in the bubbles in a similar state of undress and they’re both beaming toothily up at whoever is holding the camera, Wes’s arm wrapped tightly around Soul’s chubby little shoulder. 

“Soul! Awww, you were so cute,” Maka simpers down at the picture, and could Kid just go ahead and reap his soul already because that would be great. The adjacent page is just as humiliating, but at least he’s clothed even if it’s only with a diaper and a tie the size of his entire body looped haphazardly around his neck. Maka tilts her head and smiles up at him. “You never can get your tie right.”

“He’s still hopeless at that?” Wes’s shoulders are shaking with suppressed laughter and if Soul’s arms were just a little bit longer he could shove him off the couch. A scythe arm is a viable option of course. Maybe he’ll break that out when they get to his awkward emo phase. “Does he still open everything with his teeth?”

“Yes!” Maka pauses, mouth tightening before blurting, “And he uses up all the hot water in the shower because he’s too busy singing.” Betrayal. 

Wes throws his head back and laughs and they both ignore Soul’s furious sputtering. “The infamous bathroom sessions. He thinks he can sing falsetto. He really can’t.”

“Right, so, I’m still here.” 

His protests however only seem to spur the two of them on and his brother continues enthusiastically. “And he puts ketchup on everything.”

Maka makes a face. “On his popcorn! It’s disgusting.”

“At least the headband phase has ended.

“I always thought they were kind of cute.”

“Have you ever caught him dancing in front of the mirror-”

Alright, that’s it. “GOD STOP-”

“C’mon little bro, it builds character.” Wes gives Soul’s jaw a playful knock with his knuckles and shoots Maka a wink. “That one might have to wait until he’s out of the room.”

“Don’t.” It’s the most ardent singular word of objection he’s ever spoken but they’re both grinning up at him with similar looks of unbridled smugness and what is that? Affection? He doesn’t know what the hell to do with that but glare and glare passionately. They remained undeterred, turning back to the photo album and yup, they’re flicking towards his awkward preteen years and he leaves before he’s forced to relive the time he’d gotten into his mother’s eyeliner. 

\--

“You’re good for him you know,” Wes says a while later, when the noise of water and dishes from the kitchen are loud enough to drown the sound of their conversation. Maka stills, but doesn’t look up from where she’s been absent mindedly tracing an old picture of Soul trilling away on a piano with her finger. Her cheeks flush and he doesn’t think she knew he was watching, doesn’t think she knew she was doing it. “He acts like he isn’t but he’s...happier now. Less troubled. I can tell.” 

Because he’d known the Soul that didn’t have Maka, known the Soul before the DWMA that never smiled and kept to himself, and there is clearly a variable in his life now that’s had a positive impact, and all things point to the bubbly pigtailed meister his brother can’t stop staring at. 

Maka goes silent, and he thinks she’s not going to answer all together when her mouth brightens into a thoughtful smile, green eyes flicking to the kitchen door and staying there. Her voice is quiet when she speaks and he’s not even entirely sure he’s supposed to hear the words but they make him smile anyway. 

“He’s good for me too.” She blinks as if the admission has surprised her but the look of startlement at the revelation quickly fades to that of acceptance, and he’s glad that Maka’s here for Soul, glad he smiles so obliviously easily now, glad his little brother has finally found a home. 

Said little brother begins to sing an off key tune in the kitchen, a feat he’d been furiously denying all of ten minutes ago. The look shared between Wes and Maka is amused and all too entirely knowing.


End file.
